Every year, Tod Caviness turns a handful of talented, sensitive poets into trained monkeys at the Fringe Poetry Vending Machine. Theatre patrons and random drunks at the Orlando Fringe give them a title and three words. This is what they give back.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Thirsty Girl

Twisted yarns of golden sunrays spilled across the desert sandMaking eyelids stick together with rigor mortis despairAs a whisper drifted yearning its treasureA girl knelt with hopeful hands reachingFor a sailboat floating in the windHer pink fingernails scraping for the cloudThirsty for the supercalifragilisticexpialidociousWhich refused to soften the sandHer knee over her trapset deep beneath the rockwhere even the shadows were afraid to hidethe presence of garter-snake, scorpion, a bottlewaiting its turnAnd so her whisper found its place therea shadow, an echoFading into cool darknessAnd so the sky opened its earsto swallow the wind and digest the whispersThus the angry clouds finally came,pirates rich with silver hid under cloud sailboatsand stole the sun, robbed it of its goldin the swinging of swords,Slashes of thunder struck sandFilling the wound with blood from cloudsthe girl’s eyelids opened and she stood from her kneesa pleasant smile on her facesmooth feeling of the supercalifragilisticexpialidociouscaressing her back, brushing her teeth, sealing her lipsher brown hairmending with the twisted yarns of sunraysno longer spilling across sandthe sound of a scrape in the airher pink fingernails turning blackas they turned the rockthe bottle found her hand,a traprich with the tears of piratesclanking like silver coinsin her hand.

by Joe

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Oh, sure. Make the poet use "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". Ha friggin' ha. Well guess what: Joe will use it TWICE on your ass. (I'm still a little fuzzy on the context, but I do like the imagery.)Plus, apparently the word is recognized in spell-check. Who knew.